THE MAJOR Graf von Farlsberg, the Prussian
commandant, was reading his newspaper, lying back
in a great armchair, with his booted feet on the
beautiful marble fireplace, where his spurs had
made two holes, which grew deeper every day,
during the three months that he had been in the
chateau of Urville.

A cup of coffee was smoking on a small inlaid
table, which was stained with liquors, burnt by
cigars, notched by the penknife of the victorious
officer, who occasionally would stop while
sharpening a pencil, to jot down figures, or to
make a drawing on it, just as it took his fancy.

When he had read his letters and the German
newspapers, which his baggage-master had brought
him, he got up, and after throwing three or four
enormous pieces of green wood on to the firefor
these gentlemen were gradually cutting down the
park in order to keep themselves warmhe went to
the window.

The rain was descending in torrents,
a regular Normandy rain, which looked as if it
were being poured out by some furious hand, a
slanting rain, which was as thick as a curtain,
and which formed a kind of wall with oblique
stripes, and which deluged everything, a regular
rain, such as one frequently experiences in the
neighborhood of Rouen, which is the chamberpot
of France.

For a long time the officer looked at the
sodden turf, and at the swollen Andelle beyond it,
which was overflowing its banks, and he was
drumming a waltz from the Rhine on the
window-panes, with his fingers, when a noise made
him turn round; it was his second in command,
Captain Baron von Kelweinstein.

The major was a giant, with broad shoulders,
and a long, fair beard, which hung like a cloth on
to his chest. His whole, solemn person suggested
the idea of a military peacock, a peacock who was
carrying his tail spread out on to his breast. He
had cold, gentle, blue eyes, and the scar from a
sword-cut, which he had received in the war with
Austria; he was said to be an honorable man, as
well as a brave officer.

The captain, a short, red-faced man, who was
tightly girthed in at the waist, had his red hair
cropped quite close to his head, and in certain
lights almost looked as if he had been rubbed over
with phosphorus. He had lost two front teeth one
night, though he could not quite remember how.
This defect made him speak so that he could not
always be understood, and he had a bald patch on
the top of his head, which made him look rather
like a monk, with a fringe of curly, bright,
golden hair round the circle of bare skin.

The commandant shook hands with him, and drank
his cup of coffee (the sixth that morning) in one
gulp, while he listened to his subordinates
report of what had occurred; and then they both
went to the window, and declared that it was a
very unpleasant outlook. The major, who was a
quiet man, with a wife at home, could accommodate
himself to everything; but the captain, who was
a party type, being in the habit of frequenting low
resorts, and much given to women, was mad at
having been shut up for three months in the
compulsory chastity of that wretched hole.

In the dining-room, they met three other officers of
lower rank: a lieutenant, Otto von Grossling, and
two sub-lieutenants, Fritz Scheunebarg, and Count
von Eyrick, a very short, fair-haired man, who was
proud and brutal toward his men, harsh toward
prisoners, and violent as a firearm.

Since he had been in France, his comrades had
called him nothing but Mademoiselle
Fifi. They had given him that nickname on
account of his dandified style and small waist,
which looked as if he wore stays, from his pale
face, on which his budding mustache scarcely
showed, and on account of the habit he had
acquired of employing the French expression,
fi, fi donc,
which he pronounced with a slight
whistle, when he wished to express his sovereign
contempt for persons or things.

The dining-room of the chateau was a
magnificent long room, whose fine old mirrors, now
cracked by pistol bullets, and Flemish tapestry,
now cut to ribbons and hanging in rags in places,
from sword-cuts, told too well what Mademoiselle
Fifis occupation was during his spare time.

There were three family portraits on the
walls; a steel-clad knight, a cardinal, and a
judge, who were all smoking long porcelain pipes,
which had been inserted into holes in the canvas,
while a lady in a long, pointed waist proudly
exhibited an enormous pair of mustaches, drawn
with a piece of charcoal.

The officers ate their breakfast almost in
silence in that mutilated room, which looked dull
in the rain, and melancholy under its vanquished
appearance, although its old, oak floor had become
as solid as the stone floor of a public-house.

When they had finished eating, and were
smoking and drinking, they began, as usual, to
talk about the dull life they were leading. The
bottles of brandy and of liquors passed from hand
to hand, and all sat back in their chairs, taking
repeated sips from their glasses, and scarcely
removing the long, bent stems, which terminated in
china bowls painted in a manner to delight a
Hottentot, from their mouths.

I will arrange all that,
commandant, the baron said. I will
send the Duty Noncomm to Rouen, who will bring us some
ladies. I know where they can be found. We will
have supper here, as all the materials are at
hand, and, at least, we shall have a jolly
evening.

He stood there, with an
impassive face while he received the barons
instructions, and then went out; five minutes
later a large wagon belonging to the military
train, covered with a millers tilt, galloped off
as fast as four horses could take it, under the
pouring rain, and the officers all seemed to
awaken from their lethargy, their looks
brightened, and they began to talk.

Although it was raining as hard as ever, the
major declared that it was not so dull, and
Lieutenant von Grossling said with conviction,
that the sky was clearing up, while Mademoiselle
Fifi did not seem to be able to keep in his place.
He got up, and sat down again, and his bright eyes
seemed to be looking for something to destroy.
Suddenly, looking at the lady with the mustaches,
the young fellow pulled out his revolver, and
said: You shall not see it. And
without leaving his seat he aimed, and with two
successive bullets cut out both the eyes of the
portrait.

Let us make a mine! he then
exclaimed, and the conversation was suddenly
interrupted, as if they had found some fresh and
powerful subject of interest. The mine was his
invention, his method of destruction, and his
favorite amusement.

When he left the chateau, the lawful owner,
Count Fernand dAmoys dUrville, had not had time
to carry away or to hide anything, except the
plate, which had been stowed away in a hole made
in one of the walls, so that, as he was very rich
and had good taste, the large drawing-room, which
opened into the dining-room, had looked like the
gallery in a museum, before his precipitate
flight.

Expensive oil-paintings, water-colors, and
drawings hung upon the walls, while on the tables,
on the hanging shelves, and in elegant glass
cupboards, there were a thousand knickknacks:
small vases, statuettes, groups in Dresden china,
grotesque Chinese figures, old ivory, and Venetian
glass, which filled the large room with their
precious and fantastical array.

Scarcely anything was left now; not that the
things had been stolen, for the major would not
have allowed that, but Mademoiselle Fifi would
have a mine, and on that occasion all the officers
thoroughly enjoyed themselves for five minutes.

The little marquis went into the drawing-room to
get what he wanted, and he brought back a small,
delicate china teapot, which he filled with
gunpowder, and carefully introduced a piece of
German tinder into it, through the spout. Then he
lighted it, and took this infernal machine into
the next room; but he came back immediately and
shut the door. The Germans all stood expectantly,
their faces full of childish, smiling curiosity,
and as soon as the explosion had shaken the
chateau, they all rushed in at once.

Mademoiselle Fifi, who got in first, clapped
his hands in delight at the sight of a terra-cotta
Venus, whose head had been blown off, and each
picked up pieces of porcelain, and wondered at the
strange shape of the fragments, while the major
was looking with a paternal eye at the large
drawing-room which had been wrecked in the style
of Nero, and which was strewn with the
fragments of works of art. He went out first, and
said, with a smile: He managed that very
well!

But there was such a cloud of smoke in the
dining-room, mingled with the tobacco smoke, that
they could not breathe, so the commandant opened
the window, and all the officers, who had gone
into the room for a glass of cognac, went up to
it.

The moist air blew into the room, and brought
a sort of spray with it, which powdered their
beards. They looked at the tall trees which were
dripping with the rain, at the broad valley which
was covered with mist, and at the church spire in
the distance, which rose up like a gray point in
the beating rain.

The bells had not rung since their arrival.
That was the only resistance which the invaders
had met with in the neighborhood. The parish
priest had not refused to take in and to feed the
Prussian soldiers; he had several times even drunk
a bottle of beer or claret with the hostile
commandant, who often employed him as a benevolent
intermediary; but it was no use to ask him for a
single stroke of the bells; he would sooner have
allowed himself to be shot. That was his way of
protesting against the invasion, a peaceful and
silent protest, the only one, he said, which was
suitable to a priest, who was a man of mildness,
and not of blood; and everyone, for twenty-five
miles round, praised Abbe Chantavoines firmness
and heroism, in venturing to proclaim the public
mourning by the obstinate silence of his church
bells.

The whole village grew enthusiastic over his
resistance, and was ready to back up their pastor
and to risk anything, as they looked upon that
silent protest as the safeguard of the national
honor. It seemed to the peasants that thus they
had deserved better of their country than Belfort
and Strasbourg, that they had set an equally
valuable example, and that the name of their
little village would become immortalized by that;
but with that exception, they refused their
Prussian conquerors nothing.

The commandant and his officers laughed among
themselves at that inoffensive courage, and as the
people in the whole country round showed
themselves obliging and compliant toward them,
they willingly tolerated their silent patriotism.

Only little Count Wilhelm would have liked to have
forced them to ring the bells. He was very angry
at his superiors politic compliance with the
priests scruples, and every day he begged the
commandant to allow him to sound ding-dong,
ding-dong, just once, only just once, just
by way of a joke. And he asked it like a
wheedling woman, in the tender voice of some
mistress who wishes to obtain something, but the
commandant would not yield, and to console
herself, Mademoiselle Fifi made a mine in the
chateau.

The five men stood there together for some
minutes, inhaling the moist air, and at last,
Lieutenant Fritz said, with a laugh: The
ladies will certainly not have fine weather for
their drive. Then they separated, each to
his own duties, while the captain had plenty to do
in seeing about the dinner.

When they met again, as it was growing dark,
they began to laugh at seeing each other as
dandified and smart as on the day of a grand
review. The commandants hair did not look as
gray as it did in the morning, and the captain had
shavedhad only kept his mustache on, which made
him look as if he had a streak of fire under his
nose.

In spite of the rain, they left the window
open, and one of them went to listen from time to
time. At a quarter past six the baron said he
heard a rumbling in the distance. They all rushed
down, and soon the wagon drove up at a gallop with
its four horses, splashed up to their backs,
steaming and panting. Five women got out at the
bottom of the steps, five handsome girls whom a
comrade of the captain, to whom Duty had
taken his card, had selected with care.

They had not required much pressing, as they
were sure of being well treated, for they had got
to know the Prussians in the three months during
which they had had to do with them. So they
resigned themselves to the men as they did to the
state of affairs. It is part of our
business, so it must be done, they said as
they drove along; no doubt to allay some slight,
secret scruples of conscience.

They went into the dining-room immediately,
which looked still more dismal in its dilapidated
state, when it was lighted up; while the table
covered with choice dishes, the beautiful china
and glass, and the plate, which had been found in
the hole in the wall where its owner had hidden
it, gave to the place the look of a bandits
resort, where they were supping after committing a
robbery. The captain was radiant; he took hold of
the women as if he were familiar with them;
appraising them, kissing them, valuing them for
what they were worth as ladies of pleasure; and
when the three young men wanted to appropriate one
each, he opposed them authoritatively, reserving
to himself the right to apportion them justly,
according to their several ranks, so as not to
wound the hierarchy.

Then, having kissed Blondina, the second, as a
sign of proprietorship, he proffered stout Amanda
to Lieutenant Otto, Eva, the Tomato,
to Sub-lieutenant Fritz, and Rachel, the shortest
of them all, a very young, dark girl, with eyes as
black as ink, a Jewess, whose snub nose confirmed
by exception the rule which allots hooked noses to
all her race, to the youngest officer, frail Count
Wilhelm von Eyrick.

The three younger men wished to carry off
their women immediately, under the pretext of
finding them brushes and soap; but the captain
wisely opposed this, for he said they were quite
fit to sit down to dinner, and that those who went
up would wish for a change when they came down,
and so would disturb the other couples, and his
experience in such matters carried the day. There
were only many kisses; expectant kisses.

Suddenly Rachel choked, and began to cough
until the tears came into her eyes, while smoke
came through her nostrils. Under pretense of
kissing her, the count had blown a whiff of
tobacco into her mouth. She did not fly into a
rage, and did not say a word, but she looked at
her possessor with latent hatred in her dark eyes.

Lieutenants Otto and Fritz, who were as polite
as if they had been with fashionable ladies,
rather intimidated their neighbors, but Baron von
Kelweinstein gave the reins to all his vicious
propensities, beamed, made doubtful remarks, and
seemed on fire with his crown of red hair. He
paid them compliments in French from the other
side of the Rhine, and sputtered out gallant
remarks, only fit for a low pot-house, from
between his two broken teeth.

They did not understand him, however, and
their intelligence did not seem to be awakened
until he uttered nasty words and broad
expressions, which were mangled by his accent.
Then all began to laugh at once, like mad women,
and fell against each other, repeating the words,
which the baron then began to say all wrong, in
order that he might have the pleasure of hearing
them say doubtful things. They gave him as much
of that stuff as he wanted, for they were drunk
after the first bottle of wine, and, becoming
themselves once more, and opening the door to
their usual habits, they kissed the mustaches on
the right and left of them, pinched their arms,
uttered furious cries, drank out of every glass,
and sang French couplets, and bits of German
songs, which they had picked up in their daily
intercourse with the enemy.

Soon the men themselves, intoxicated by that
which was displayed to their sight and touch, grew
very amorous, shouted and broke the plates and
dishes, while the soldiers behind them waited on
them stolidly.

Mademoiselle Fifi had taken Rachel on to his
knees, and, getting excited, at one moment kissed
the little black curls on her neck, inhaling the
pleasant warmth of her body, and all the savor of
her person, through the slight space there was
between her dress and her skin, and at another
pinched her furiously through the material, and
made her scream, for he was seized with a species
of ferocity, and tormented by his desire to hurt
her. He often held her close to him, as if to
make her part of himself, and put his lips in a
long kiss on the Jewesss rosy mouth, until she
lost her breath; and at last he bit her until a
stream of blood ran down her chin and on to her
bodice.

They stood up, one
after the other, trying to say something witty,
forcing themselves to be funny, and the women, who
were so drunk that they almost fell off their
chairs, with vacant looks and clammy tongues,
applauded madly each time.

Thereupon Lieutenant Otto, who was a
species of bear from the Black Forest, jumped up,
inflamed and saturated with drink, and seized by
an access of alcoholic patriotism, cried: To
our victories over France!

But the little count, still holding her on his knees,
began to laugh, for the wine had made him very
merry, and said: Ha! ha! ha! I haf never
met any of them, myself. As soon as ve show
ourselfs, dey run away!

La fille, exaspérée, lui cria
dans la figure: «Tu mens, salop!»

The girl, who was in a terrible rage, shouted
into his face: You are lying, you dirty
scoundrel!

For a moment, he looked at her steadily, with
his bright eyes upon her, as he had looked at the
portrait before he destroyed it with revolver
bullets, and then he began to laugh: Ah!
yes, talk about them, my dear! Should we be here
now, if they were brave? Then getting
excited, he exclaimed: We are the masters!
France belongs to us!

She jumped off his
knees with a bound, and threw herself into her
chair, while he rose, held out his glass over the
table, and repeated: France and the French,
the woods, the fields, and the houses of France
belong to us!

The girls did not protest, for they were
reduced to silence, and were afraid. Even Rachel
did not say a word, as she had no reply to make,
and then the little count put his champagne glass,
which had just been refilled, on to the head of
the Jewess, and exclaimed: All the women in
France belong to us, alzo!

At that she got up so quickly that the glass
upset, spilling the amber colored wine on to her
black hair as if to baptize her, and broke into a
hundred fragments as it fell on to the floor.
With trembling lips, she defied the looks of the
officer, who was still laughing, and she stammered
out, in a voice choked with rage:
Thatthatthatis not true,for you
shall certainly not have any French women.

She was thunderstruck, and made no reply for a
moment, for in her agitation she did not
understand him at first; but as soon as she
grasped his meaning, she said to him indignantly
and vehemently: I! I! I am not a woman; I
am only a whore, and that is all that Prussians
want.

Almost before she had finished, he slapped her
full in her face; but as he was raising his hand
again as if he would strike her, she, almost mad
with passion, took up a small dessert knife from
the table, and stabbed him right in the neck, just
above the breastbone. Something that he was going
to say, was cut short in his throat, and he sat
there, with his mouth half open, and a terrible
look in his eyes.

All the officers shouted in horror, and leaped
up tumultuously; but throwing her chair between
Lieutenant Ottos legs, who fell down at full
length, she ran to the window, opened it before
they could seize her, and jumped out into the
night and pouring rain.

In two minutes, Mademoiselle Fifi was dead.
Fritz and Otto drew their swords and wanted to
kill the women, who threw themselves at their feet
and clung to their knees. With some difficulty
the major stopped the slaughter, and had the four
terrified girls locked up in a room under the care
of two soldiers. Then he organized the pursuit of
the fugitive, as carefully as if he were about to
engage in a skirmish, feeling quite sure that she
would be caught.

The table, which had been cleared immediately,
now served as a bed on which to lay Fifi out, and
the four officers made for the window, rigid and
sobered, with the stern faces of soldiers on duty,
and tried to pierce through the darkness of the
night, amid the steady torrent of rain.

Suddenly,
a shot was heard, and then another, a long way
off; and for four hours they heard, from time to
time, near or distant reports and rallying cries,
strange words uttered as a call, in guttural
voices.

In the morning they all returned. Two
soldiers had been killed and three others wounded
by their comrades in the ardor of that chase, and
in the confusion of such a nocturnal pursuit, but
they had not caught Rachel.

Then the inhabitants of the district were
terrorized, the houses were turned topsy-turvy,
the country was scoured and beaten up, over and
over again, but the Jewess did not seem to have
left a single trace of her passage behind her.

When the general was told of it, he gave
orders to hush up the affair, so as not to set a
bad example to the army, but he severely censured
the commandant, who in turn punished his
inferiors. The general had said: One does
not go to war in order to amuse oneself, and to
caress prostitutes. And Graf von Farlsberg,
in his exasperation, made up his mind to have his
revenge on the district, but as he required a
pretext for showing severity, he sent for the
priest and ordered him to have the bell tolled at
the funeral of Count von Eyrick.

Contrary to all expectation, the priest showed
himself humble and most respectful, and when
Mademoiselle Fifis body left the Chateau
dUrville on its way to the cemetery, carried by
soldiers, preceded, surrounded, and followed by
soldiers, who marched with loaded rifles, for the
first time the bell sounded its funereal knell in
a lively manner, as if a friendly hand were
caressing it.

At night it sounded again, and the
next day, and every day; it rang as much as anyone
could desire. Sometimes even, it would start at
night, and sound gently through the darkness,
seized by strange joy, awakened, one could not
tell why. All the peasants in the neighborhood
declared that it was bewitched, and nobody, except
the priest and the sacristan would now go near the
church tower, and they went because a poor girl
was living there in grief and solitude, secretly
nourished by those two men.

She remained there until the German troops
departed, and then one evening the priest borrowed
the bakers cart, and himself drove his prisoner
to Rouen. When they got there, he embraced her,
and she quickly went back on foot to the
establishment from which she had come, where the
proprietress, who thought that she was dead, was
very glad to see her.